A Lack of Betrayal
by Feagalad
Summary: 'For a moment, could one of the sleepers have seen him, they would have thought that they beheld an old, weary hobbit, shrunken by the years that had carried him far beyond his time, beyond friends and kin and the fields and streams of youth, an old, starved, pitiable thing...' But wait! What if Sam hadn't woken up too soon during that critical moment on the stairs of Cirith Ungol?
1. Prologue: Slinker & Stinker

**Author's Note:** And my curiosity has struck again. I always felt so wretched when I got to this part of the book (even more so once I knew what came next) so I decided to explore the possibilities via Fanfiction.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters, this setting, or even this premise, as I'm sure others have wondered the same.

* * *

…_Then he came back, and slowly putting out a trembling hand, very cautiously he touched Frodo's knee – but almost a touch was a caress. For a moment, could one of the sleepers have seen him, they would have thought that they beheld an old, weary hobbit, shrunken by the years that had carried him far beyond his time, beyond friends and kin and the fields and streams_ _of youth, an old, starved, pitiable thing. _At that touch, something inside Gollum snapped and he seemed to come to a decision. Gently, he caressed Frodo's knee once more before curling up to sleep, close by the hobbits' side. The three slept on, gathering strength for the final step into Mordor.

* * *

Sam woke first, alerted by Frodo shifting position and was fully awakened by the feel of a new warm body close at hand. His lip curled in disgust as he saw Gollum but, seeing no danger, remained still and silent to avoid disturbing Frodo, still deep in exhausted slumber.

"Wake up, hobbitses!" Smeagol pawed at Sam's arm. "Its time to go."

Sam snapped out of his light doze and glared suspiciously at Smeagol who was looking unusually cheerful. Smeagol was rejoicing that the whispering, teasing voice that had corrupted him for years was gone. He was master of his own mind again and had resolved not to go through with his treacherous plan. The freedom he felt as the burden lifted sent him into a state of ecstasy. He watched as Sam bent over Frodo, rousing him gently. "Sorry to wake you, Mr. Frodo, but Gollum says it's time to be movin' on." He smoothed Frodo's tangled hair back from his pale brow as he spoke. Smeagol huffed quietly. Gollum indeed! He was free now, no more of that sniveling, sneaking, murdering thief.

Frodo stirred and opened his eyes and smiled, seeing Sam's face bending over him. "Calling me early, aren't you, Sam?" He said. "It's dark still!"

"Yes. It's always dark here," said Sam." But Gollum's come back, Mr. Frodo, and he says we must go."

Frodo drew a deep breath and sat up. "The last lap!" He said. "Hullo, Smeagol! Found any food, have you had any rest?"

"No, no food for Smeagol. I shan't until Master is safe."

Frodo looked startled, especially at Smeagol's use of 'I', and he looked at him carefully. "All right, Smeagol. But tell me. Can we find the rest of the way by ourselves? We're in sight of the pass, of a way in, and if we can find it now then I suppose our agreement can be said to be over. You have done what you promised, and you're free: free to go back to food and rest, wherever you wish to go, except to servants of the Enemy. And one day, I may reward you, I or those that remember me."

A shudder went through Smeagol, at those words. In that moment, he saw all of his dealings with Frodo in a new light. He hadn't been betrayed; he had been saved. Without Precious whispering treacherous things in his ear, Smeagol could see clearly now. He waited for Gollum to speak out, but that taunting, twisting voice never came. Instead, he felt a jolt of something strange. What was it? He had not felt such as this for years and years. Searching back through the twisted tunnels of his memory, Smeagol found one passage that had not been explored for many years (not since Baggins' 'eggs' riddle). He searched deeper and deeper - probing right back to his early days when life was simple and he still innocent.

With a jolt he recognized this strange emotion. He was feeling what could almost be called fear for his companions as he remembered the bargain he had just made. He was feeling concern. "No, no." He whined, making a decision to undo his treachery and not waste this new chance he saw before him. "Very risky, the tunnel is, hobbits can't find the safe way though without help. No rest, no food for Smeagol yet."

The three continued their dangerous climb, Gollum in front, leading the way, Sam behind Frodo, keeping a wary eye on 'Stinker'.


	2. Smeagol

**Author's Note: **Gosh has it been a while since I've updated! This fic has been challanging to write - good challanging, but challanging nonetheless. I didn't anticipate how hard it is to get inside Smeagol's head. It will probably come slower than _The Valar's Choice_ or _Ribbons in the Brandywine_, simply because it requires more consultation of the original book to write - and that takes time. Still - it will not be abandonded, I can promise that. A premise like this is too good to miss! :)

* * *

Smeagol dithered to himself as his two companions made ready to move on – Fat One forcing a bit of that nasty elf-bread down Master's throat, despite Master's protests that they should save it for later and use the stuff the Nasty Captain had given them.

Smeagol bared his teeth at the thought of Faramir. He may no longer blame Frodo for his capture – realizing that Frodo had been little more than a prisoner at that point too – but the former hobbit held little love in his withered heart for Captain Faramir of Gondor.

Oh – where was he? And how did his thoughts get there? It would seem – now that Useless (for it was Precious no longer) didn't whisper replies in his head – that his thoughts had a tendency to wander down tangents until he forgot what he was thinking of before. What was it?

"Right then, Gollum." Fat One – no, _Sam_ – asked, shouldering his trussed pack with a grunt. "We're ready if you are."

That was it! Smeagol nodded and got up from where he had been sitting back on his haunches. "We're ready, then?" He said urgently, anxious to be on the move again – anything to distract from his labyrinth of thoughts. "Then we go. Up, up, up the stairs we went and now into the tunnel." He was still dithering to himself about what to do about _Her – _debating different solutions to his self-inflicted problem as they passed on, Smeagol in front and the hobbits following side by side.

* * *

What to do? What to do? If only he had never gone to speak with Her! Life would be so much easier then!

They went up the long ravine between the piers and columns of torn and weathered rock that stood like huge unshapen statues on either hand. There was no sound. Some way ahead, a mile or so, perhaps, was a great grey wall, a last huge upthrusting mass of mountain stone. Darker it loomed, and steadily it rose as they approached, until it towered up high above them, shutting out the view of all that lay beyond. Deep shadow lay before its feet.*

Smeagol tried to keep from muttering his swirling thoughts aloud – there was no need to make Fat One more suspicious than he was already. What was Smeagol to do? She would be waiting eagerly in the tunnel. He had promised her fresh, sweet meat – he had scarcely seen her so excited – and he hated to think of what she would do if she ever found out he was backing out of their deal.

He would just have to lead Master and – and _Sam _(See? He was trying to be better all around.) around Her. Yes – yes, that might just work. He wouldn't have to go through an undoubtedly messy confrontation that way. Yes, they would go through an alternate route.

Sam sniffed and grimaced. "Ugh! That smell!" he said. "It's getting stronger and stronger."

Smeagol looked up and saw the dark mouth of the tunnel in front of him. He drew a deep breath, trying not to choke on the fumes. He had a mistake to correct - he was no longer the old Gollum and it was time to prove it. It was now or never!

* * *

* Taken from The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien


	3. Samwise

Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the emaciated figure shuffling in front of Frodo. That Stinker was up to something - he could just feel it! The sniveling wretch had an uncanny pale gleam in his eye and was being unusually silent (usually that sneak kept up an almost inaudible monologue - that occasionally lapsed into hissing dialogue - as he led them along.) Needless to say, Samwise Gamgee was on high alert.

Following closely behind his master and breathing shallowly to cope with the tunnel's stench, Sam kept one hand clenched around his sword-hilt as they entered into the darkness. In a few steps they were in utter and impenetrable dark. Not since the lightless passages of Moria had Frodo or Sam known such darkness. * It was drafty and damp - each burst of cold air across Sam's neck making him feel as though a myriad of eyes were staring at his back. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder...but there was nothing but thick darkness, so he turned his eyes back to the front and quickened his pace to bring him closer to Frodo.

They walked as it were in a black vapour wrought of veritable darkness itself that, as it was breathed, brought blindness not only to the eyes but to the mind, so that even the memory of colours and of forms and of any light faded out of thought. Night always had been, and always would be, and night was all. *

But for a while they could still feel, and indeed the senses of their feet and fingers at first seemed sharpened almost painfully. The walls felt, to their surprise, smooth, and the floor, save for a step now and again, was straight and even, going ever up at the same stiff slope. *

Drawing alongside his master now - or as near to alongside as he could tell - Sam fumbled his way along the wall carefully, following the hissing breath of that detestable Gollum. It was so dark! So dark that Sam felt as though he was forgetting what light looked like. He would have given anything to be able to see his hand in front of his face again.

All too soon, his wish for light was granted - although it was not the light he expected or wished to see. Just ahead in the dark, so close that he might have stepped on him, Gollum glanced over his shoulder at the hobbits. Two pale points of light shone for a moment, gleaming keenly in the blackness before they were hooded and looked forward once more. And if Sam strained to hear, which he did no matter how much he tried not to, he could hear the thin, hissing mumble of 'No, no, no! What must we-I do? What should Sssmeagol do?' Repeating in a never ending whine as the wretched creature scuttled ahead of them, leading its darkness-blinded guests ever deeper into the throat of the mountain.

* * *

Smeagol shuddered as a draft of foul, dank air ghosted its chilling way down his spine. She was waiting - oh she was waiting and hungry, so, so hungry! What was he to do? How could he resist her? She would gobble him up, gobble him up like a wriggling, screaming fish. Even if he did not alert her to his companions' presence - taking them straight through the tunnel and over the pass - She would still find them and he would die first.

He glanced back over his shoulder, right into the hard, suspicious face of Samwise Gamgee. Smeagol shuddered, turning away from those accusing eyes. He was changing - he _was_! Why did the Fat On - _Sam _hate him so? Maybe he could convince Her to just take the Fat One and leave Master to continue on. Yesss, maybe She would prefer to leave Master and enjoy Fat One.

"No, no, no!" Smeagol chastised himself. He would not start thinking like that again. Freedom would not relinquish him so soon. He had to try - maybe Master would get tired of Fa - _Sam's _nasty words too and take care of the problem for Smeagol. But - what about Her? Should he let her catch Sam? It would not be his fault, after all, if he just let it happen rather that telling Her - wouldn't it? "What must we - I do?" He muttered, indulging in a theraputic hiss. "What should Ssssmeagold do?"

* * *

*Taken from LotR:TTT - Shelob's Lair (J.R.R. Tolkien)


	4. Shelob

They were drawing closer, she could feel it. She could smell the sweat of their travels on them, hear the thudding of their hearts, taste the fear that rolled off of them in tangible waves. He had done it, her pet, he had brought her food. Soon he would come to her - soon he would lead them to her lair...

* * *

She was waiting, oh She was waiting. Smeagol shuddered as he grew near the crevace that was the entrance to Her cavern. She would be so angry with him! She would eat him up - freeze his limbs until he could not move and then suck the life from his waking body drop by agonizing drop.

But he couldn't hand Master over to Her (_'Or Fat - Sam either_,' his better side pointed out) He was a new creature now - not the wretch that had bowed and scraped before Her great web. Pausing near the entrance and giving it a long look, he huffed out a long cleansing sigh (regretting it when he had to inhale again and Her fumes shot up his nostrils) and hissed out an instruction to his companions.

"Master must go left." He somewhat-consciously placed himself between the two hobbits and Her crevace. "Master must hurry." He could feel the suspicious eyes of Sam boring into him and turned his back, following them to the left and trying to hasten their pace. They wouldn't be out of danger until they were out of the tunnel and over the pass.

* * *

He had betrayed her - that sniveling little freak! She had heard every treacherous word he spoke and had caught a glimpse of his scrawny hide before he scampered after her prey. No mercy for him, then, no clemency. The server would become the main course when she caught up with them. No one crossed Shelob, last child of Ungoliant, and survived...


	5. Starlight

They continued on up the tunnel as it wound its way through the solid rock; a twisting capillary that went ever up, up into the oppressive dark. Smeagol hurried, using his memories of the foul place as footholds and handholds as he urged his companions on ever faster – pushing them to a pace that would have drawn protests from Sam, were it not for the stench of Her which curled around them like an anoxic cloak and made every breath a laborious chore. Smeagol knew that he would not be able to relax until he could feel the dead air of Mordor on his face. He could practically feel Her eyes boring into his back and he knew that She was angry – oh so angry! She would be out for blood and he would be hanged rather than satisfy Her. He had already come so far; it would be a shame to waste all of his progress.

Keeping a wary ear out for any sign that She was close behind, Smeagol clambered forward through the darkness. He would hear Her before he smelt Her, of that he was sure, for despite Her size and aura – or perhaps because of it – She was neither good at disguising Her approach nor silent enough to escape his fine hearing that years in the dark had sharpened. For the first time he thanked the heavy air all around for its ability to muffle and deaden the creakings and echoes that would normally be sounding out within this passage. Yet he could not rest, feeling that for all his efforts something was still going horribly, terribly wrong.

* * *

Then She came on them, oozing out of the blackness that she called home with a scuttle of long legs as she dragged her heavy body down the well-worn passages of her lair.

Smeagol froze when the first sound reached his ears and looked frantically around, watching for a glimpse of the sickly glow of Her eyes. But there was nothing there, save the forms of his two companions, both of who were undoubtedly looking at him in confusion (or – in the case of Sam – unveiled suspicion). With a shudder he turned back around and, tugging on the hem of what he hoped was Master's cloak, Smeagol got them started again. But they had not gone on for more than a few yards when there came a sound from behind them, terrible in the heavy, padded silence. It was a creaking sound, a bubbling sound, and a sound that Smeagol knew only too well. He gasped as there came a long venomous hiss from somewhere in the dark. No, no, no, no! It was too soon! They were too far from the entrance – they couldn't run! She was coming – coming to eat them all!

"It's a trap!" Sam cried and Smeagol cringed as the metallic sound of a sword being unsheathed sounded out. They stood there – not knowing whether to go on or to retreat, not knowing where it was safe to place a hand or to turn their backs. The darkness was stifling, made worse by the reek of the thing that tracked them. For a moment the threads of a scheme twisted themselves together in Smeagol's mind:

It had been long since he had last traversed these passages. Perhaps he could simply plead with Her that he had gotten lost, or that he was leading Her prey into a false sense of safety, or perhaps he could say that –

"NO! Stop it, ssstop it!" Smeagol gibbered to himself, scrubbing at his head with grimy hands. "That is not us…that it not _you_!"

That hissing outcry seemed to wake Samwise from whatever stupor he had sunk into, for summoning his strength the stout hobbit found the breath to cry out "Master! The Lady's gift to you – a light in dark places she said it was to be. The star-glass, use the star-glass!"

"The star-glass?" Frodo muttered as one answering from within the deepest realm of sleep, hardly comprehending. Smeagol wondered privately how a star could be made of glass and listened attentively to his Master, keeping one wary eye out for any sign of Her. "Of course!" Frodo exclaimed, rousing himself with a sharp slap. "Why had I forgotten it? _A light when all other lights go out_ is surely what we need now."

* * *

Smeagol cowered against the wall, feeling the evil presence of his former mistress as She came ever nearer. He had no idea what this star-glass might be but he had little hope that it would deter Her. Nothing stopped Her when She was hungry; not man not beast not even the Dark Lord Himself. And She was hungry now – nigh on starving and so, so angry. They were doomed; there was no hope of escape. It struck him as a bit mournful that he would never get to feel the warmth of the sun again or taste a freshly caught fish, but even as those thoughts emerged he blinked them away in confusion as to why they had come.

Frodo reached for the Phial of Galadriel, holding it aloft in a shaking hand. *For a moment it glimmered, faint as a rising star struggling in heavy earthward mists, and then as its power waxed, and hope grew in Frodo's mind, it began to burn, and kindled to a silver flame, a minute heart of dazzling light, as though Eӓrendil had himself come down from the high sunset paths with the last Silmaril upon his brow. The darkness receded from it, until it seemed to shine in the centre of a globe of airy crystal, and the hand that held it sparkled with white fire. *

From his place against the wall (conveniently shielded from Her furious gaze by Sam's legs) Smeagol looked on in wonder as the pure light fought and drove away the hateful dark. At one time, not so very long ago, he knew that he should have shrank back from this star-glass that burnt into his gaze like a living flame. He shivered, whimpering in fear, as Her eyes appeared, baleful and luminous in the dark – reflecting back the light of the star-glass in a sort of sickly mockery of its radiance even as she shrank away to hide. Frodo glanced over and for a moment the light wavered. But even that moment was enough for Shelob to rally herself and to start the hunt again.

Sensing the change and set free from the holding spell of those dreadful eyes to run to exhaustion and in vain panic for the amusement of the great monster, the hobbits turned and fled together; Sam shoving Smeagol ahead of him in his panic. But even as they ran, Frodo looked back and saw with terror that at once the yes came leaping up behind them. The stench of death was like a cloud around them and they struggled to draw breath.

* * *

*** - **_The Two Towers: Shelob's Lair_


End file.
